Tears and Blood
by Clever Hobbit
Summary: The land of Mordor recalls a time when it had growing things upon its surface.


Disclaimer: The characters you recognize belong to JRR Tolkien. I have just added a small twist to things.

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I have only the faintest memory of the past. I can recall a time when there were these- things. I do not remember what they were called. I believe they were alive- but they were different than the living things that now cross over me. These Things were there for but a short while, and then they were gone. I only know the colors of brown and black. These Things were different. They were tall, but not as tall as the Dark Tower that is there now. Some were brown, but- different. Not the brown that I have been reduced to, choked and haggard. They were of a richer hue, it seemed. And I- I was like them as well in color, a dark, rich brown. And I believe I was- oh, what is the word?- soft. Yes, soft. And I had more than just a dusty surface- there was no dust. I was- moist. Yes, that's it. Moist. And- damp. But how was I damp? With what? The only liquid I taste now is foul orc brews and blood from the same said demons. I do not remember how I was moistened. But I remember- I helped these Things grow. And- live, I think. Not live like the beings on my surface now. They do not live, only suffer before dying in battle and shedding blood on my surface.

I think that I supported these Things, before they were ripped away from me. Oh, it hurt, it hurt when they left. It was not of their making, though, the poor creatures. The orcs, those beings that now cross my surface, tools of war, hate, anger, are cruel. They tore away these Things that were so different. A color-I can recall a color. I do not know its name. I have not seen it for such a long time.

It is a sad fate that I have been reduced to such a horrendous state. I know I once was something important! I was! Now I am called a wasteland. I have been stripped of my name and given a filthy one. Mordor. How I despise that name. I miss the Things that I once grew. Before the orcs came. Before the Dark Lord saw fit to take away my name and replace it. Dark Land. I despise it.

What is this? There are living things on my surface, such as which I have never seen before! They are disguised to be orcs, but I can tell. These are no orcs. Their feet touch my surface, not clad in hobnailed-boots, but bare against the cruel stones embedded in my surface. Not orcs. Is it possible? I never thought that there were any other creatures, aside from the orcs and the Things from my past.

These Creatures travel across my surface slowly. They stop to rest. I can tell that they are weary. One, it seems, is carrying a heavy burden. He sleeps fitfully, stirring and fighting unseen demons. Seemingly preoccupied, he does not know that the other speaks to him as he sleeps. I do. I can hear.

He cradles the burdened one's head in his lap and speaks softly, so softly that I can only just catch the words passing through his lips. He speaks of things that seem achingly familiar, things that remind me of my past.

"That's right, Mr. Frodo, you just sleep. You need all that you can get. I know," he murmurs, "what It's doing to you. Don't think I can't see. Because I can." The burdened one shifts in his sleep, whispering unintelligibly. The other starts a little, and then continues when he quiets.

"We do have to keep going. We have to do this. For- for the rest of Middle-earth. For the Shire. For-" he draws in a breath shakily, "for all that is green and good."

Green. Green. What is this word? I don't remember. It hurts with a terrible passion, to try to find what it seems this creature knows so well.

There is moisture on the creature's face. Not any liquid I can recall; it's- pure. Yes, pure. How strange a word, yet befitting for something as crystalline as this moisture. Clear. It falls from his face on to my surface. I suck it up greedily. Oh! This- this is- this isan altogether different thing. What is it? I wish for more of this- this is the moisture that helped the Things to grow. I am sure of it. I must remember!

The creature continues. "Do you remember, Mr. Frodo, the way the wind would play in the party tree? The sunlight would cast golden patterns on the ground. Do you remember how I used to believe when I was a young lad that I could catch a sunbeam? I tried to take them home to my mother, but I never could." More falls from his face. I soak it in. "And the way that my older brothers would chase us, Frodo, through the fields when they had time to play with us? They would always catch me first and tickle me until there were tears in my eyes from laughing so much, and then you would come back and help me escape again. I- I wish I could help you escape." He sighs softly. I am also saddened. This creature- I have not seen emotions such as these. I can only recall anger, resentment, and hatred from the orcs. But wait- I do remember one other thing. Contentment. From the Things. They would only grow. There was no greed.

And now this creature's eyes stirs a long-forgotten feeling I had for the Things. It was a warm, round, pleasing word that filled me with a good feeling. I felt it for the Things, they felt it for me. It shines out of this creature's entire countenance right now. Such an all encompassing word- lll... lo... love. Love? Yes, love. Even now, I can remember that feeling from the Things. I was needed, important, special. I'm none of that now.

Strangely enough, now that I think, it is fitting that such a bittersweet, pure liquid should come from such loving eyes.

The creature removes his hand from the other's brow and scoops up a handful of my soil, letting it sift through his fingers. "Look at this, Mr. Frodo. This is what could happen if we don't keep going. This could be the Shire if we stop here. I can tell once, long ago, there must have been some life here." His hand drops limply. "I can't let that happen. I won't." His face grows hardened and determined. "I won't."

After a time, once the burdened one wakes, they continue their arduous trek across my surface. I am sorry that they must see how I am now, that they can't see me as I once was. I think it might have pleased them to see me back then.

I feel another presence on my surface, following the two creatures. It seems to be a wretched creature, like, yet unlike those first two. Strange: it is not an orc, not an entirely foul being, yet it is not one of those creatures that evoke such feelings, for it has a seed of some dark evil planted in its heart, choking out everything that could make it like those two. They seem unaware that they are followed. How I wish I could let them know!

I begin to understand where the two creatures and the one trailing thing are going. To the fiery mountain.

That was there, I remember, in the past as well. Once in a great while it would erupt, and it would send ashes and scorching cinders down upon me. Now it is a nearly every day occurrence. I can't feel the heat any more unless it is of a colossal magnitude, I have been burned so many times. I count it as one of the few blessings bestowed upon me.

The creatures begin their ascent of the mountain. I cannot have any more of the bittersweet liquid from the creature's eyes. I am afraid that these creatures will die on that perilous mountain; it is fit to erupt very soon. I believe even the smallest thing shall set it off. Why they would go to such a perilous place is unknown to me. Indeed, even why they would come to me, covered in harsh stones and boulders, littered with foul orcs, and hung over with poisonous gases from the mountain is beyond my sight.

There! It is exploding like it never has before! Half of the mountain has been blown off from the force! I am seared and burned, tortured like I never have been before by these flying ashes and cinders. It even pierces my stoic ability not to feel heat. Molten rock comes pouring out of every crack in the mountain's surface-I know it shall be agony when it comes, and shall be for many days until the rock cools. I see two small specks fleeing- where are they going? The lava reaches the bottom of the mountain and flows across my surface, scorching and mutilating. Oh, what has become of those poor creatures?

Three great shadows pass above me, shaped as the Fell Beasts that are often circling overhead, but different. On the back of one of these flying creatures is an old man in white. They, like the poor creatures, are also going to the mountain. But to what point and purpose? All they shall find is death. That is all the mountain has been for many ages. Wait! They come back! One flying creature bears the one that gave forth the sweet fluid; the other bears the burdened one. They are both hanging limply in the claws of the flying beasts. The thin, wretched creature is not there- did he perish in the flame? I don't think I will ever know. It is a sad thing- I could feel that that creature was at one time like the other two.

The burdened one's arm is hanging free from the claws of the great flying beast carrying him; something falls from his hand and lands on my surface. Blood. I soak this up immediately. This is different from the blood of the orcs; it is red, a color that I also know well from the searing flames. It is not as pure as the liquid from the eyes of the other, but at the same time it is not foul.

I remember there was a word for liquid once, purer than the liquid from the creature's eyes; soft and clean. It used to fall from the sky, just as that creature's blood did. It was necessary for life among the Things. It was- oh, it was- rain.

Rain!

It came from the clouds that once were above me. Not clouds of ash and smoke- they were fair to look upon. If those clouds were to come back, and give this- rain- the Things might grow again! I could be something entirely different. I am beginning to see that there is hope for me. I can become new. I can help the Things to grow again. I won't be barren, a waste.

And I will be called Mordor no longer.


End file.
